


When a Prime Doesn't Feel All That Prime

by ASimpleArchivist



Series: Your Prime, His Spark [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Don't worry he's okay tho, F/M, Female Reader, God how do I tag this send help, He needs to sleep, I know nothing of Cybertronian biology, I tried to make it feasible, Illnesses, Optimus basically gets a cold and you take care of him, Optimus gets sick, Optimus is your guardian, Ratchet's tired, Reader is worried, Reader-Insert, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You're the Mom Friend™, and also a mother hen, fem!reader - Freeform, pls just bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 07:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11031246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASimpleArchivist/pseuds/ASimpleArchivist
Summary: Optimus Prime hasn't been feeling well, and you decide you're going to alleviate that as best as you can.(Basically, Optimus gets a cold, and you become the mother hen of a lifetime. Ratchet's there, too, and he's tired.)





	When a Prime Doesn't Feel All That Prime

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just nigh of eight thousand words of self-indulgent Optimus/Reader fluff. I've put a good few hours into this one, and I hope you guys like it.  
> Just a note: reader is implied to be a senior in high school. You're kinda the unofficial mom friend to everyone, including the Autobots. Takes place in the beginning of Season 1-ish, set before episode thirteen, when Optimus gets the plague (I know that for certain, bc Ratchet would've been hovering over Optimus the second he wasn't acting right here).  
> I hope I've got all the characterizations right. I've finished the show recently and I'm still worried about if I portray these guys right. –////–  
> Also, I know barely anything of Cybertronian biology, and I came up with all this on the spot when I got this idea, so if something's outstandingly wrong just tell me. I'd like to know. I'm new to this fandom. I took quite a few shots in the xenobiological dark with this one.

_"Score: red team two, blue team one. End match."_

"Ah- _ha_! In your _face_ , Miko!"

" _Ugh_ \- shut your pie-hole, Jack! You only won because you used that speed boost near the end!"

You glanced up from the small words printed on the glossy pages of your textbook, your mouth quirking in amusement as Miko rose to loom over Jack with a clutched fist.

"Calm yourselves, guys," you said, amused. "Miko, it's Raf's turn."

The young girl groaned in frustration but acquiesced nonetheless, handing off the controller to an anticipated Raf, who slid next to Jack as the older boy set up the next race.

"You're _still_ not done with your homework?" Jack asked in disbelief, catching your gaze over Raf's head.

"Physics are complicated," you wryly reminded. "And it's kind of hard to concentrate with you two and your shouting matches."

" _Jack_ ," Raf groaned, drawing out the teen's name. Excitement always made the usually timid boy more vocal. "Start the game!"

"All right, all right," Jack said, grinning a bit as their attentions turned to the screen. "You're on."

You chuckled at their antics, your gaze falling over the railing down to the main floor. Bulkhead was grouching in retaliation to Ratchet's incessant fussing, the medic's chiding tirade not having lulled in the least since the ex-Wrecker and Bumblebee had returned from a patrol gone wrong. Their minor run-in with the Decepticons hadn't been too severe, but it had afforded Bulkhead a few dents and scorch marks on his bulky chassis. Upon their staggering return through the groundbridge, Ratchet had immediately gone up in a tizzy of scolding concern, especially directed towards the ex-Wrecker, as he had been the one carelessly injured. Bumblebee still stood nearby in concerned silence, unaware of what he could do to interfere without causing the medic to turn his irateness towards him.

The revving purr of a motorcycle engine echoed through the main entry tunnel, and you glanced over to see Arcee quickly shifting into her default form without so much as rolling to a stop. She was carrying the large bag of pizza boxes that you'd ordered ten minutes prior, and handed them up to you. You hastily set your textbook to the side, jumping out of the recliner and relieving the femme of her delivery.

"You didn't have to do that, Arcee," you said, repeated for the third time that evening. "Thank you. But I still could've gone with you to get them."

"My holoform is good for more things than just sitting there," she told you dismissively, glancing towards the medical corner just as Bulkhead pitifully attempted to smack Ratchet's persistent hands away, only to receive a fresh bout of chiding. "What happened to Bulkhead?"

"Run-in with 'Cons - nothing too serious, as far as I know," you said, setting the bag on the makeshift table before moving back over to the railing. Miko dove towards the bag, pulling a box from it and setting it on her lap while licking her lips in anticipation. You turned to point a finger at her. "Wait for the boys. _And_ for paper towels."

The young girl groaned and Jack snickered right before Raf sped past him onscreen, to which the older boy cried out in surprise.

You felt a certain, familiar warmth settle over you, observing your gathered family in their collective aura of affection - differently displayed, but intended as pure at heart.

Though, upon a quiet but stark realization, you realized that there was one presently missing from your dysfunctional family.

"Where's Optimus?" you asked the femme, looking at her. "I haven't seen him all day, now that I think about it."

"I thought he had patrol in the north," she shrugged. "He didn't ever show?"

You shook your head, your face drawing together in thought. "I didn't ever see him come or leave. That's unusual, for him...maybe I should go see if he's in his berthroom?"

"Maybe _I_ should," Arcee suggested, concern also making itself known in the way the corners of her mouth pinched. "You might not be visible to the motion sensors."

You gave her a decidedly deadpan expression. "You saying I'm short, Arcee?"

She scoffed a soft chuckle, shaking her head as she looked back towards Ratchet as he turned his diligent attention towards Bumblebee, who was now gesticulating and whistling quite fervently. "I think I should go bail our resident stooges before they twist up Ratchet's tailpipe any more." She glanced down at me with a raised brow. "You know where his quarters are?"

"Yeah, I remember from Miko's tour," you said, waving her off. "If I can't find him I'll let you know."

The femme nodded and moved towards the three as Ratchet's hand shifted into the fizzling blue blow torch and he began to threaten the poor yellow scout with it.

You chuckled to yourself, heading towards the staircase leading down to the main floor.

"I'll get the paper towels from the storeroom!" you called over the edge of the platform as you descended, but you were pretty sure the young trio was too invested in their tournament to hear. 

* * *

The immense height of the ceilings in the base still proved to confound you, to this day. The central room was all right, because usually the Autobots were there to fill up the empty space. But wandering through the corridors by yourself, alone under the flickering florescent lights far above, you couldn't help but feel small. Ironic, that you hung out with five two-story titans that completely dwarfed you in size on a daily basis and you never felt that way in their presence.

Nonetheless, your trip to the storeroom that they had started keeping stocked up with human things had been quick, and now you were headed towards the wing the Autobots has designated for their barracks. Vaguely, you recalled Miko remarking upon their rooms in bouncing passing, but it had been hard to follow due to how excited she had been. Having another human - and another _girl_ , for that matter - join Team Prime, it had evened out the odds. Though, admittedly, you and Miko had your differences. You were still good friends, all the same, but you tended to get along with Raf better. The kid just made more sense. He was quiet, too, which helped a lot. You wouldn't doubt it if Miko had started screaming the moment she'd been conceived.

Passing the energon reserves, you absentmindedly tossed the roll of paper towels up into the air, watching the puffy white cylinder somersault a couple of times before you caught it easily and tucked it under your arm. You came to a T-section, and after a brief moment of squinty-eyed thought, you turned left. If you remembered right, Ratchet had once told you that Optimus had picked the farthest room. It was closer to the outside wall, you supposed - and you knew Optimus had always been one to put himself between his family and any potential danger, as minuscule as it could be. You wondered how he ever wound down, always worrying himself to the primer like he did.

You began to pass several colossal doors as you ambled along. You noticed that they had what looked to be large, white pieces of paper taped on the dark metal, colors scratched onto their surfaces. They were too high up for you to read, about typical Autobot eye-level, but going by the color schemes you could easily deduce each designated door. The first you passed was deep orange and blue, the white obviously present. Ratchet's. The rest were just as easy to deduce. Yellow and black, blue and pink, green and gray. You figured they were probably Miko's doing, as she had a liking towards art. And though she had a bit of a ways to go as far as skill was concerned, you were honestly proud of every single drawing she would show you with a victorious, beaming grin - even if the object of her art was sometimes too vague to decipher.

You came to the end of the corridor, the last door seeming to loom over you as you drew to a stop. You saw red and blue on its respective paper. You suddenly felt very small.

What if Optimus was just recharging? He'd had a pretty rough reconnaissance mission gone wrong a few days back, and on top of that he'd been patrolling in Canada quite a bit. He was probably just tired and needed some rest. Maybe you should've asked Ratchet about him first. The medic seemed to have an omniscient sixth sense in regards to the Autobot leader.

Still, it still concerned you. It wouldn't hurt just to make sure he was okay, right? You'd leave him alone if he was asleep. You could be quiet. Hopefully.

Stepping towards the door, you waited for it to open. It didn't. You sighed, begrudgingly admitting to yourself that Arcee had been right about the motion sensors not picking you up. You already knew that Optimus never locked his door. Being open and available to the others was one of the unspoken rules of the standards he held himself to.

Glancing around the empty corridor, you pursed your lips in thought. There really wasn't a point in going to bother one of the Autobots to open the door because you were already there. You looked down to your shoes and considered using one of them, despite their small size, when your gaze alighted upon the roll of paper towels still tucked under your arm. It was bright, and bigger than your shoes. Your only concern was whether or not you could toss it up high enough due to its lighter weight.

Well, there was no time like the present. May as well try it.

You stepped back, peering up at the large panel far above your head. Your tongue poked out from between the corner of your lips as you sized up the distance. You reached back, giving a few test motions before chucking the roll upward. It actually hit the sensor panel itself before plummeting back to the ground. You managed to catch it just as the door slid open.

The darkness housed within looked like its own entity, thick and untouched by the lights in the corridor. You squinted, but couldn't make out any sort of shape within. You wondered if he was even in there, when you heard something creak and you caught a glimpse of a dull blue, albeit still glowing weakly, deep in the massive room. It disappeared shortly after, however, followed by another creak and what seemed to be a soft groan.

You hesitated. He'd probably been asleep, and you'd gone and woke him up. _Smart thinking, nap-blocker._

You were considering just leaving, but the lack of further movement or sound concerned you. So, deciding (probably against your better judgement), you stepped past the line of where light met darkness. The door snapped shut behind you with a note of finality and you jumped, glancing back with sudden apprehension. You gulped, but turned back to face the interior of the room.

"Optimus?" you said softly, taking a little step forward. You saw another flash of iridescent blue, but it flickered before disappearing again.

You blinked rapidly, squinting in the dark as your eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden lighting change. Fortunately, there was a glowing, transparent tablet made for hands much larger than your own lying on what must've been his desk, illuminating the room in the faintest green sheen, just enough so that you could see the ground beneath your feet. After a few long, silent moments, you were able to make out the massive shape of the Autobot leader lying on what looked to be their equivalent of a bed. You're pretty sure you remembered Arcee referring to it as a berth instead.

"Optimus?" you tried again, and after a long, silent moment, he moved. His helm shifted towards you, his optics flickering in the dark as he gazed down at you. He wheezed deeply, the cooling fans within his chassis rattling as the outward plating rose and fell with his breath.

Concern washed over you and you set the roll of paper towels down before trotting up to his berth. It loomed over you, a daunting climb. You glanced to either side of it, then caught sight of what looked to be connective grooves in the head corner that could serve as hand and footholds. You carefully ascended its side, thankful for the fact that there was more than enough room to maneuver and thus enable you to move quicker.

Your head popped over the edge of the berth frame, and you were met with Optimus' flickering optics. You hesitantly clambered onto the cushion covering the expanse of his berth, the material having little give but surprisingly comfortable nonetheless. His optics remained on you, even as dim as they were, and he held out a massive servo to you. You grasped his thumb for support, crawling tentatively into his palm and he deposited you carefully in the wide gap between his windshield plating and his shoulder. You could _feel_ the heat rising off of him, much stronger near his spark chamber but still tangible from your position next to his helm.

Your bit your lip, hesitating, before reaching out to his face.

The metal was borderline scalding. He flinched under your touch, startled, before slowly turning his face into your comically tiny hands. His eyes fluttered shut, and he ex-vented softly. Your name left his vocal processors as rough, tumbling gravel, barely audible over the sputtering whir shaking beneath the outward paneling of his chassis. His usual smooth and rumbling tone was long gone, instead replaced with an unfamiliar and audibly raspy discomfort. It was still so incredibly soft, all the same, just as it always had been. But the difference was stark and unfamiliar, and it worried you greatly.

You felt immense sympathy and directionless guilt well up in your entire chest. You had never seen the leader of the Autobots this...vulnerable. And to be entirely honest, you could've gone the rest of your days without the input. It was strange, to feel as though you were the stronger one, the stabler one, in the presence of this three-story titan that always seemed to be the monolith of security and support to everyone that knew him.

It was only when his chilled fingertips, a strong contrast to the heated core of his body, brushed the exposed flesh of your arm and caused goosebumps to jump up on your skin that you realized he was speaking again. Or, at least, he trying to.

"What...doing here...?"

You realized with an increasingly worried start that part of his speech had cut out mid-sentence. You hoped it was simply a parallel to humans temporarily losing their voices.

"You haven't been out of your room all day," you murmured, hesitantly grasping one of his massive, proffered fingers with your comparatively tiny hand. You tried to ignore noticing the tremor that had started to wrack in his wrist. "We were starting to worry about you."

He wheezed something unintelligible, his voice sputtering weakly with static, before he ex-vented sharply enough to be considered a cough, despite his notable lack of lungs. His hand trembled and fell back to the berth as his helm sank back down into the cushioned material, his optics shuttering closed as his vents continued to rattle within his chassis.

"I'm going to get Ratchet," you told him softly, shifting to slip off of his shoulder. He mumbled out something that may have been a protest, but he didn't make an attempt to stop you as you carefully descended down the berth's notches back to the floor; though you doubted he could have, as weak as he seemed to be.

It took you no time at all to run back across the wide expanse of the room, picking up and chucking the roll of paper towels at the sensory panel, successfully activating the motion sensors a second time as the door slid open. You glanced back at Optimus' prone form, your concerned gaze lingering just for a moment, before you turned and disappeared around the corner. The door closed again in response to your departure.

* * *

"Ratchet!" you called out breathlessly, not even around the corner opening up into the main room yet. "Ratchet!"

You skidded around the corner, your shoes screeching on the concrete as the collective audience of the Autobots turned to you with raised optic ridges. Miko, Raf, and Jack peeked over the edge of the couch in curiosity.

"Yes, yes, what is it?" Ratchet groused, not even sparing you a glance from his vital signs readout. Bulkhead was still sitting on the medical berth, looking absolutely like a kicked puppy while Bumblebee lingered beside him with a consoling hand laid on the Wrecker's broad shoulder.

"Ratchet, Optimus is sick!" you pressed, running up to him and pressing insistently at his pede. The medic glanced down at you with a look of disbelief, but the others didn't appear so skeptical.

"That's nonsensical," he told you chidingly. "He's probably simply recharging."

" _No_ ," you stressed, frustration leaking into your tone, "he's _sick_. He's got a fever and he can barely move or talk."

Ratchet's optic ridges furrowed, and you gave him your most pleading expression. "Please, I'm serious. I wouldn't pull your chain about something about this."

"...Very well." Ratchet grabbed the medical kit that he kept under the main work console. He lowered a hand and you carefully stepped into his palm before settling on his shoulder as he raised you up to it. He walked out of the main room, and _wow_ , you'd never realized just how _tall_ the Autobots were. You could see so much more now that you were twenty feet higher in the air. You quickly tossed the roll of paper towels at Miko, who jumped up and caught it quarterback style, chirping her thanks and beaming in anticipation as she moved over to the pizza box.

"What symptoms is he displaying?" Ratchet inquired as he made his way towards the barracks. Potentially the best pro of being two stories tall: you get to places much, much faster, even at a leisurely pace.

"Fever," you began, recalling all the unusual things you'd noticed while in the Prime's presence. "It sounded like something was rattling in his chest. He was wheezing pretty bad, and when he tried to speak his voice cut in and out and had this weird static. He seemed really weak, too - he couldn't hardly hold his head or arm up."

Ratchet hummed softly, the noise tangibly rumbling even from your position next to his pauldrons. "I think I know what may be wrong. If I'm correct, then there is very little to be worried over, as it is extremely common and non-lethal."

A twinge of hope made itself present, but you were still concerned. "I don't know...he sounded like he was in a lot of discomfort."

"I doubt it's anything serious, otherwise he wouldn't be as complacent as what you've described."

You blinked. "How do you mean?"

"Optimus is notorious for attempting to work through any moderate illnesses he may acquire in an attempt to push through them," Ratchet informed you, "but when it comes to minuscule illnesses such as this, he actually rests."

"That's..." You sighed. "That is such a male thing to do."

Ratchet shrugged the shoulder that you weren't currently occupying. "Optimus is subservient to his own brand of irony. He always has been."

You laughed at that, and it was only a few more moments before Ratchet reached the end of the corridor. The door opened in greeting and you grumbled softly at how Ratchet didn't even need to raise a hand, much less lob an object twenty feet above his head. Though, as Ratchet stepped into the Prime's berthroom, it didn't seem so large after all (minus the fact that the spartan selection of furniture still dwarfed you, but at least you could see the tops of the tables).

"Optimus," Ratchet said, raising a palm and you crawled obediently into it before he carefully set you down on the nightstand next the berth. You watched as Ratchet set down the med kit, popping it open and rummaging through its contents.

The larger mech stirred, mumbling something that you couldn't decipher through the heavy static marring the multiple layered tones. Ratchet hummed under his breath, his expression shifting into concentration as he pulled a tool you were unfamiliar with out of the depths of the kit. He turned Optimus' helm up and a luminescent blue light flared from what must've been similar to a flashlight. He directed it into Optimus' optics, one at a time, before setting it aside and flicking on his personal scanner, bathing the Autobot leader in a soft red light. It flickered blue when it ran over Optimus' chassis, and Ratchet eyed the vent openings on either side.

"As I suspected," he remarked lightly, flicking the light off again and storing it back into the med kit. "He's simply purging his venting system, ridding it of all the dust and dirt that have accumulated over time. That's the rattling you're hearing. It's commonplace, and we undergo it at regular intervals so our cooling fans remain completely functional."

"So this is voluntary?" you asked curiously.

"Not quite." Ratchet closed the kit, locking it, before glancing down at you. "Our systems act on their own in this regard, much like your human immune systems function involuntarily to purge viruses and bacteria that might harm your bodies."

You nodded in understanding, before your brows furrowed again. "If it's just his vents purging, then why can't he talk normally?"

Ratchet tilted his head in thought, glancing down at Optimus, who had yet to respond to even your collective presence. His optics were shut, so maybe he'd fallen into recharge? Ratchet didn't seem concerned.

"The heat that our engines and spark generate to help purge the debris may influence our vocal emitter due to its vicinity to the spark chamber. I haven't actually given it much thought - it's temporary and doesn't cause discomfort, so there's never been a need for particular consideration." The medic lowered his hand again, and returned you to his shoulder.

"So he's going to be okay?" you inquired, to which Ratchet hummed affirmation. "How long will this last?"

"If he's been purging for most of the day..." Ratchet ticked off some numbers in his head, tucking the kit under his arm and leaving the room. You glanced back just before the doors shut, but Ratchet began the trip back to the main room and turned the corner. "...It should approximately take ten more of your earth hours."

" _Ten hours_?" you asked in disbelief. "It only takes you guys about a day to go through the paces of your equivalent of a robot common cold?"

"I have observed you children falling under the affects of your so-called 'colds' before, and I must remind you that your systems are strictly organic, while ours are mechanical and are therefore far more efficient by comparison."

You shrugged in submission. "You have a point." You grinned, poking his audial receptor teasingly. "Us lesser, squishier organics are just _so_ inefficient and fragile compared to you guys."

Ratchet snorted, muttering a distinct choice of factual proof to counteract your playful accusation, before you both fell into a comfortable silence. Your stomach grumbled softly, and you prayed that Miko and Jack hadn't eaten all the pizza in your absence.

You thought back to the time to which Ratchet had referred. Winters in Nevada, while warmer compared to some places, did prove to pass around the notoriously exasperating illness with proficient ease. The Autobots'd had quite a time learning about taking care of their sick human charges, and you'd run yourself ragged attempting to alleviate their suffering as best as you were able. They recovered quite quickly thanks to your attentiveness, but in exhausting yourself for their sake, you fell victim to quite a nasty bout of the ever-malicious head cold. The younger kids had done their best to return the favor, bless them, but they weren't quite as experienced as you were.

Apparently, Optimus had noticed that you were being held captive under its ill effects much longer than what the children had been, and had inquired if there was anything he could do to help. It had taken you by extreme surprise, to say the least. The other Autobots had already been mothering you quite a bit (even Ratchet had expressed his concern, which had flustered you - to be under his full attention was as alien as it was welcome), but you'd expected that from them, not their usually stoic leader. You'd meekly attempted to divert any extra effort on his part, as you hadn't wanted to bother him, but he'd insisted. That borderline sickeningly sweet, polite concern that he seemed to always reserve for everyone else, combined with those genuine, bright blue optics that seemed to look into your very soul with complete disregard for their near invasive depth, had rendered you unable to refuse (or breathe for that matter, but that hadn't been new, as your sinuses had swelled up tighter than a Chinese finger trap).

That's how you had wound up curled up in his cab, his AC systems accommodating every rise and fall of your fluctuating fever. You'd drifted in and out of sleep throughout that day, but accidentally ended up sleeping there throughout the night. You'd awakened mortified and apologetic the next morning, but your fever had broken during the night. Fortunately, it had been on a weekend, so having overslept had been beneficial. Optimus had gently stressed that your apologies were completely unnecessary, as he was simply ensuring your recovery in light of the others already having returned to full health.

He'd hovered over you for the following week, even after you'd gotten better.

"Hey, Ratchet?" you asked, and he grunted attentively. "Is there anything I can do to help? He didn't seem like he was feeling very good."

"The overheating acts much like a fever does in humans, so discomfort is mandatory," the medic told you. He paused for a long moment, musing, before glancing up at you. "May I ask why you're so concerned?"

You blinked. "Should I not be?"

"I'm not saying you shouldn't be," he responded. "I just don't understand why, as a human, you're so worried for him - and all of us, for that matter."

"Why should me being human make a difference?" you returned. "You're just as much family to me as Raf and Jack and Miko are. You guys being made of metal and circuits instead of flesh and bone doesn't make a difference to me."

His optic ridges rose in what you guessed was surprise, which you didn't fully understand. You had always been a bit protective of them, as amusing as it may seem. Feeling defensive of these two/three story metal titans while you yourself were a fraction of the size was its own kind of irony - not to mention being fragile and squishy, as much as you hated to admit it.

Ratchet, his inquiries apparently appeased, turned his head again. You could swear that you saw a faint quirk of a smile. "I'll...try to think of something that may alleviate his symptoms that you could assist him with. But I can't guarantee that I'll come up with anything."

You nodded in affirmation, contented with the prospect. If there was anything at all you could do for Optimus to repay him for all that he'd done for you, you'd do it without hesitation.

You were dragged from your thoughts when Miko called your name, and it was only then that you realized that Ratchet had reentered the main room.

"Come _on_!" she pressed, her feet bouncing impatiently. "Let's _eat_ already!"

Ratchet lowered you to the upper floor and you thanked him before settling back into your chair. Jack offered a paper towel with a pizza slice and you took it gratefully.

"How's Optimus?" he asked you, getting his own slice and narrowly avoiding Miko's ravenous hands as she dug into the box.

"Fine, apparently," you replied, biting into the hot slab of cheese and dough. Never before had a five-dollar pizza tasted so good. "Ratchet said he's just got the Cybertronian equivalent of a cold."

Raf's eyes lit up in curiosity. "I didn't realize Cybertronians could get sick."

You shrugged. "It's just like how our bodies flush out viruses and stuff. He's generating a lot of heat to purge his venting system so his cooling fans work right. But if you want a more detailed explanation, I would ask Ratchet."

The younger boy hummed, and the four of you lapsed into silence. They had turned their game console off in your absence and had switched it to a channel showing a monster truck rally, no doubt Miko's choice. You were surprised that Bulkhead hadn't actively been attempting to join in. Though with a glance towards the medical ward, you saw that the massive Wrecker had actually settled down on the berth and had fallen asleep. Bumblebee and Arcee were nowhere in sight, so you assumed they'd gone on patrol.

A long while passed, enough that the four of you managed to eat your way through a good majority of both pizza boxes (Miko taking rank in inhaling five massive slices - you honestly didn't know where she put it all, as tiny as she was) and go through several episodes of whatever Miko's newest binge-watching series was. Raf was starting to yawn, and Jack's eyes were starting to droop despite his attempts to hide it.

You heard Ratchet call out your name, and when you turned he was beckoning for you from his place at his worktable. He'd been checking on Bulkhead, it seemed, but as you trotted down the steps and went over to him he handed you a large vial of transparent gel with a car rag.

"I'm going to take the others home," he told you, glancing towards the sleepy, younger humans. "You had already planned on staying here tonight, hadn't you?"

You nodded, taking the proffered items from his servo. "Yeah, I have a couple of reports to finish, and it's always quieter here. It helps me focus." You eyed the items curiously. "What's this?"

"Frame coolant." Ratchet typed something into the console, glancing at Bulkhead's still frame. "It should help alleviate the discomfort of his fever."

You relaxed, relieved that he'd come through in giving you a task in which you could offer your assistance. "So it's like a vapor rub. Is there somewhere in particular I should target?"

"His face-plate and chassis, primarily," the medic informed you, moving over to the sleeping ex-Wrecker and touching the wound he had repaired with a scrutinizing optic. "Be careful not to injure yourself. There are sharp edges in some places of his armor, and I do not want to be responsible for you being admitted to a hospital."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Don't worry about me, Ratchet. I'll be careful." You glanced up at Bulkhead. "Do want me to keep an eye on him?"

Ratchet grunted, shaking his head. "No need. The sedative should have him rest, at least until I return."

You nodded, and watched as the medic moved over to the platform, speaking softly to the others. You heard their collective, protesting groans, but Ratchet's stern tone silenced them as they started gathering their things. Smiling softly, you headed towards the corridor's entryway, only stopping when Ratchet called your name as the younger kids padded down the staircase to the floor.

"I adjusted the sensory monitor," he told you. "It should pick up your movements now."

You beamed gratefully at him. "Thanks, Ratchet."

The medic only nodded, and with a flourish of mechanical whirs and flashes of red and white, his alt form revved its engine at the sleepy children zombie-walking towards him. You laughed to yourself at the comparison, waving at them in departure before turning towards the hall. You heard Miko's whining protest before Ratchet shushed her, and the rest was lost to his engine and the distant creak of the base's doors opening.

* * *

It was an odd feeling, for the base to be near empty. It was even quieter than it had been earlier, a certain stillness that only came with nighttime. You didn't stay overnight at the Autobots' home very often, the only previous times having been a couple of sleepovers constructed by Miko's design. But if one thing was present in the massive corridors and spacious rooms, it was a security that instilled in you and soothed you no matter your emotional state. You felt safe here, among these gentle giants, and their home served as a safe haven for both them and you.

True to his word, Ratchet had adjusted the sensor panel - it picked up your movements just as you stepped into its broadened range, the door sliding open without further provocation. You wondered when he'd done it, or if he'd just adjusted it from his main computer panel.

Optimus was still where you'd left him, though it was of little surprise (you wouldn't be too invigorated to move either, if your lungs were purging themselves of all the gunk that must reside in them). He was still in recharge, completely still as his vents sputtered and rattled. It didn't sound much better than it had before, if not just a tad quieter.

Scaling the corner of the berth was a challenge - the towel was easy enough to just throw over your shoulder, but carrying the large bottle (that you honestly had no idea how Ratchet even procured - while it was big, it was certainly not normal-sized by Cybertronian standards) was a hassle. You would place it on a rung above you, then scale up to it, then rinse and repeat.

When you finally reached the edge of the berth, you decided that maybe, should this situation ever arise again, that you should suggest to Ratchet that he install a staircase, or maybe even a tiny elevator just so you wouldn't risk falling and shattering every bone in your body. That'd be nice.

You heaved yourself onto the berth's cushioning, your feet sinking into it as you glanced over Optimus' shoulder in an attempt to find a place to climb. Sometimes you forgot how big the Autobots were, in all honesty - and Optimus was most definitely the largest of them all. You carefully climbed over the thick cabling connecting his shoulders and neck to his chassis, trying not to dig your feet into any potential tender spots lest you wake him. Optimus, however, was not perturbed. He was stone-cold out of it. You breathed a sigh of relief as you finally clambered onto his chassis, swiping your arm across your forehead as you regained your bearings. The one thing that you had failed to realize at first, however, unveiled itself to the forefront of your mind when you took in the wide expanse of the Prime's chest plating.

Optimus had quite the chest. And lots of it.

You sighed softly, resigning yourself to the job as you popped open the bottle and drizzled the fluid onto the towel. You did ask for this after all, and if this had the potential of making Optimus feel better - no matter how minute the relief may be - you would damn well do it. He'd done the same, if not more, for you, and you were going to return the favor as best as you were able. Even if it took you all night.

* * *

Ratchet ex-vented slowly, wearily, as he drove back into the main room of the base, transforming smoothly and rolling his shoulders. He probably needed to do a few of those old stretches he'd learned - the protomass in his neck and shoulders was starting to ache. Taking advantage of the makeshift exercising equipment Bulkhead and he had rigged up probably wouldn't hurt, either.

The medic went about his rounds leisurely, relishing in the quiet that had befallen the base. Quiet was nice. Quiet was soothing. Bulkhead wasn't crushing something for once, and Miko wasn't getting into something she ought not to touch. And with a glance into his inward chronometer, he presumed that Bumblebee and Arcee would finish up their patrol in a few earth hours, well into the night. All the groundbridge's calibrations were up to date, and Bulkhead's vitals were stable. With an energon transfusion the following morning, the ex-Wrecker should be able to go about his normal duties.

_With advised, but most likely disregarded caution_ , Ratchet thought to himself as he shook his head with a soft scoff.

Ratchet glanced towards the corridor that lead to the interior labyrinth of the base. He wondered if you were all right, if you'd injured yourself climbing up onto the berth, or clambering all over Optimus' outer plating. You were naturally cautious, certainly - it was a good change of pace to have a human that actually had common sense - but accidents did happen. He hoped Optimus wouldn't roll over in his recharge and crush you. That would...be quite the mess to clean up. And it would be a great loss to the team, of course. Optimus would certainly be traumatized. And Ratchet didn't want to lose the only human whose presence he could actually tolerate.

Ratchet sighed, turning his attention to the equations flashing on the screen above him. Optimus would tell him to go recharge - it was late, and he hadn't had the chance to do so in the past couple of earth days. But...

He'd work on them a little while. Just for a bit, and then he'd go rest.

_'Just for a little while'_ , so has said every workaholic ever.

The next time Ratchet came to himself and glanced at his chronometer, he winced at the glaring shift of time that had passed. What he'd intended to be two hours had inadvertently grown to be six, and he sighed as he realized that Bumblebee and Arcee would soon be in need of a groundbridge home.

Ratchet rubbed at his aching optics, sighing wearily as he forced himself to save his progress and step away from his console to again check on Bulkhead. He was fine, just as he had been six hours previously. Ratchet almost worried if he had given Bulkhead an overdose, but he recalled that this particular type of sedative always hit the ex-Wrecker hard. Ironic, that he was the bulkiest of them all and was always out like a light when given the tiniest dose of medicine. The medic stretched his arms over his head, relieving the tension that had drawn itself up in his protomass, before again gazing towards the corridors.

You had yet to make another appearance, unless you'd sneaked by him (which, in fact, wouldn't have been possible - while his gears may have been rusty, Ratchet's hearing was as sharp as ever). Maybe it wouldn't hurt to go check on you. You might've hurt yourself, and the thought made Ratchet pick up his pace a little more than he would've cared to admit. When he entered Optimus' quarters, Ratchet scrutinized the mech before his optic ridges shot up in surprise.

You had obviously put much effort into your lone task, as the towel and bottle of frame coolant, drying and empty, respectively, were sitting on the bedside table next to Optimus' berth. Ratchet's expression softened as he caught sight of you, curled up on the berth cushion next to Optimus' helm. You had tucked yourself against his face guard, your face serene as your torso rose and fell in time with your inhalations.

Ratchet hummed quietly to himself, feeling his mouth quirk slightly as he went about scanning Optimus' vitals. It seemed that he was almost finished purging his ventilation system, and the 'fever' had reduced majorly due to this; and, in part, he supposed, due to your admirable dedication in seeing to the Autobot leader's well-being. It surprised Ratchet, though perhaps it shouldn't have - after all, you were just as protective of Optimus as the Prime was of you. It was ironic and, admittedly, endearing. Ratchet just wished that you knew how special you were to both Optimus and the rest of the team - Ratchet himself. Your integrity was admirable, and your compassionate and willing nature oft procured praise and thanks from the Autobots when you would perform tasks - no matter how minute - for them that they could not do themselves. You were responsible, as well - though you didn't conduct it with such exaggerated grandeur like Jack was capable of at times. You were humble, and it showed.

You honestly were a person to be admired, Ratchet supposed as he scrutinized the Autobot leader. No wonder Optimus had taken such a liking to you. You shared many common traits - one of them being your strong sense of loyalty and dedication to the others you deemed to be under your charge. You would make a fine physician, if Ratchet did say so himself.

"...Ratchet?"

The medic blinked, realizing Optimus' optics had flickered on and were shuttering as they adjusted to the dark.

"Rest, Optimus," the medic hushed him. He glanced at your prone, still form. "I was just checking on the both of you."

Optimus blinked slowly, but he stilled when you shifted in your sleep, not daring to move until your breaths lengthened and evened out once more. He ex-vented slowly, an affectionate warmth that Ratchet recognized instantly growing on the Prime's faceplate.

"She's been most _persistent_ in her concern," Ratchet told him softly, chuckling despite himself. The unspoken 'for you' was clear to the both of them.

"She is aware that this is not dangerous, is she not?" Optimus returned just as quietly, the deep timbre of his voice unusually subdued.

"I informed her of such," Ratchet said dismissively. "She still insisted upon doing anything that she could to help."

Optimus hummed in response, his optics shutting as he again ex-vented.

"This should dissolve within the night," Ratchet told him, shifting his pedes toward the door. "Call me if you need anything."

"Of course, old friend."

Ratchet exited the Prime's quarters just as quietly as he'd come. 

* * *

The next morning, after Ratchet had dragged himself from the persuasive depths of recharge, he was standing in front of his console as Bulkhead nursed an energon cube. Bumblebee and Arcee had already gone and had picked up the three children earlier that morning, and were now chatting by the groundbridge with Jack. Bulkhead was still spaced out from the sedative, but Miko was most definitely not deterred as she animatedly spoke of what she had planned for them to do this weekend.

Raf had settled in on the platform near Ratchet's console a little while after they'd arrived, quickly having become completely engrossed in whatever he was typing on his laptop. He looked up at the medic then, however, curiosity in his eyes as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "How's Optimus?"

Ratchet had yet to check on the Autobot leader since the previous night, and so he simply shrugged a shoulder. "Fine, most likely. The purging probably cycled through without complication during the night."

Raf hummed. "Did she stay up with him?"

The medic blinked, and, to his credit, it only took him a couple of seconds to realize who the young boy meant. "For a while, I believe. She was asleep last I checked on him."

The boy opened his mouth, presumably to question further, when the familiar set of resonating footsteps began to ring out from the corridor. Optimus stepped into the main room, his helm turned slightly as he spoke. You were perched atop his shoulder, holding onto his neck cabling for support, while you chattered back at him with a sleepy grin. Optimus smiled faintly at something you said before his attention was caught by the other Autobots.

"Good morning," he greeted while you waved, and they responded collectively. Optimus moved over to where Ratchet and Raf were, nodding to both of them.

"Morning, Ratchet!" you chirped, beaming down at him as Optimus raised a servo so you could hop onto it.

Ratchet honestly couldn't restrain the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "And good morning to you."

You patted Raf on the head in lieu of a greeting, opening your mouth to speak before Jack's voice drew your attention to where he and Arcee and Bumblebee were. "Come over here!"

You trotted down the steps and jogged over, asking what he wanted, while Ratchet turned back to the Prime looking after you with a warm expression.

"She is certainly unique, is she not?" Optimus remarked softly, his optics glowing.

Ratchet stared at Optimus a long moment, before he glanced towards you. You were talking animatedly, gesticulating vividly as Bumblebee's door wings fluttered in attentiveness and Jack leaned against Arcee's leg.

"She certainly is," Ratchet agreed, sighing warmly as he chuckled inwardly. You certainly were.


End file.
